The Waresian Armoire dates back to the height of the kingdom of Waresia, a period known for it's love of baroque and the macabre

A dialog concerning the origins of the Trinitine Faith,

The basics behind the 100 Word Submission

Saint Duncan is dead, and lies in his tomb, but every year thousands will visit it to lay their hands on the cold stone, and whisper a prayer to the patron saint of exorcism.

The worst sort of scoundrels and hoodlums. Let down your guard for a even a second and they are on you like Klavadogs.

Merchant Karsh

The surprising thing about young fools is how many survive to become old fools.

While technically alive, magnagogs have little in the way of personality and are driven via telepathic command.

Strange creatures, half dreamed half imagined, figments of delerium, wisps of insanity.

T'was a great roar, milord, and the ground was rent and the horses took their bits in their teeth and there was much confusion. No magic could reach so far, and none of our magehounds scented wizards. We do not know the deviltry of the enemy, and for this we lost the battle.

General Tubogga

The restless shade of a terrible demon of an age long since dust.

7 magical candlesticks

Not a bad weapon, but don't miss. It takes about six minutes to reload...

A Warren is what happens when a concept, abstract, or ideal becomes embodied through magic, and accordingling becomes a place and a source of magic power

The street is wide, and smoothly paved, with trees planted along the sides. The houses are mansions and palaces, each surrounded by stone and ironwork walls that are as much decorative as they are protective. These are the summer homes of the Princesses, and ladies of privelage.

A haint is a pursuing ghost, or a ghost that follows or chases the living, and comes from Southern vernacular. In the fantasy setting, a Haint is a semi-corporeal entity that exists, but is neither alive nor dead, and not undead or constructed. They are an enigma.

Riffing

Untold years, laying in the deep
Sheltered in the sepulchre earth
Borne by the dead who never speak
Funeral Gold and Grave Silver
Beware the gift
Beware the giver

'For days, we've heard nothing but cricketsong, from the coming of dust to an hour past dawn. Nothing he happened, but I'm sure something will.'

last journal entry, Traggion the Explorer

With but a name, these places fill common folk with apprehension and dread

Created ages ago, the Tower of Malice is a repository of evil, cursed artifacts, and the souls of the wicked